


Keep the Faith

by thelittlelion (eyeslikeonyx)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikeonyx/pseuds/thelittlelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton can tolerate many things.  Waiting for his dear Laurens to come back to their dorm at three in the morning is definitely not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tolerance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohNooOOOOoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohNooOOOOoo/gifts).



> ok so i meant for this to be cute fluff for ash like i promised i would write for her, but that did not happen at all. yikes.
> 
> tumblr: sinfulaham

Alexander is, for the most part, a very patient person.  Not a lot of things get to him like they used to.  He is twenty-two and already mature beyond his years.  He has been through too much to let really much of anything pester and upset him.  He has had to train himself to be patient, yes, but he is patient nonetheless.

Alexander Hamilton can tolerate many things.  Waiting for his dear Laurens to come back to their dorm at three in the morning is not one of them.

Alex would have gone out with John and the rest of their friends for an adventure in the city, but he has been neck deep in studying for the LSATs for the past two weeks.  Also, binge drinking isn't really appealing to him.  If he is out on the town with his friends, chances are that he is trying his best to make sure none of them get arrested or kidnapped or killed.  Stopping John from getting into physical fights when drunk is the hardest task of all.  But Angelica promised to keep John out of trouble for him and to have him back at his and John's shared dorm at a decent hour.  He trusts Angelica.

Except now it is three minutes past three in the morning, and Alex is calling everyone to see where they could possibly be. He checks Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, and even Facebook to see if anyone has posted anything.  Nothing.  He groans loudly before lying back down on the bed.  Clearly he is going to have to wait until sunrise for John to get back to his dorm safe and sound.  He is definitely talking to him about staying out so late.  He is too exhausted to stay up and chew him out when he finally does get back.

Alex does not realize that he has fallen asleep until his phone vibrates loudly next to his ear.  He has to blink several times before his brown, doe eyes fully open to see who is texting him. He is expecting someone like Angelica or Hercules to be texting him.  He is definitely not expecting Thomas Jefferson of all people to be randomly texting him at half past three in the morning.   _Probably another screenshot worthy drunk text to post on Twitter,_ he concludes.  He opens the text to see just what mortifying thing Jefferson has sent him this time around.  He is genuinely hoping yet dreading that it's a dick pic.  Except it's not mortifying at all—not on Jefferson's part, at least.  Instead, Alex is sent a video of what looks to be someone being hauled away from a club in handcuffs by a cop, demanding to be let go.  It does not register to Alex who exactly is being arrested until the camera zooms in on the prisoner's face.

_No.  No fucking way._

Alex looks at the worded text Jefferson sends him at the bottom of the video link.

**Your man tore some other dude's ass up just a few minutes ago and someone called the cops on him.  Just thought I would let you know.**

Alex is wide awake now.

* * *

 

John Laurens rubs at his throbbing wrists while sitting with his back against the steel, black bars.  This night has officially gone to shit. It was just supposed to be a casual night out with friends.  Everything was fine until that jackass with a Fedora decided to hit on Lafayette and then get vulgar when Laf told him no.  John wasn't just going to stand there.  He was just doing the right thing and defending one of his closest friends.  He shivers.  It is way too cold in this stupid jail.  Don't they know anything about heaters?  Every time someone else gets bailed out before him, the more agitated he becomes.  Why haven't any of his friends come to bail him out?  He has been here for hours.  Someone ought to be here to come get him out of this hellhole.  His head is killing him; his clothes reek of alcohol and cigarettes.  There is a stain on his baby blue button-up shirt, but he can't tell what it is.  He decides that it could be mud.  His mind is fuzzy.  He is a lot more sober than he was before, but the buzz of the alcohol is still swimming through his system.  He has thrown up twice already and can feel the third round building in the pit of his intestines.

He really needs a drink to settle his nerves.

"John Laurens?”

_Finally._

He slowly opens his amber green eyes to see a tall, black cop standing in front of his cell door.  John watches the cop unlock the door and open it.  "You're free to go."  John slowly rises to his feet, his stomach sloshing around in his body as he does so.  "You're lucky that your friend convinced that guy you beat up to drop charges against you.  And he bailed you out too.  Now get out of here.  I don't want to see you back in another jail cell."  John rolls his eyes and wearily walks out of his cell.

"Can I get my wallet and phone back?" he slurs.

"Waiting for you up front," the cop replies.  John nods and follows closely behind him. He looks at the clock on the wall.   **8:27 AM.**  Fuck.  Alex is going to kill him when he gets back.  His stomach agonizingly twists with each step he takes.  He can push through the wrath of his father with his eyes closed; he has done it his entire life.  The boiled over anger displayed by one Alexander Hamilton, though, is terrifying enough to make John shake in his boots.

He steps into the bustling lobby of the police station, ears screeching from the loud voices and constant ringing of hotlines and cell phone notifications.  He needs some Aleve and a nap. Some food would suffice too.  "Your friend seems to have all your stuff already," John's escort says suddenly.  John turns to where he is looking, and— _oh Christ._  That is not a sight he ever wants to see again.

Alexander is slouching by the entrance to the building, clad in one of John's maroon South Carolina Gamecocks hoodies, a pair of basketball shorts, and his ratted, black hi-top Chuck Taylors.  His typically long, healthy, dark hair is wet—maybe greasy—and tied into a messy bun on top of his head; his eyes are ringed red and puffy.  His skin looks clammy and pale.  His easy smile is nowhere to be seen.  He looks tired and weak.  His hands have a vicious grip on his own phone and on the evidence bag holding John's belongings that were taken from him in the obscene hours of the morning.  John swallows.  He is thankful that those hands do not have a hold of his throat.  Alex blinks slowly and gnaws at his bottom lip. He does not look away from John.

"Let's go," he croaks. John's stomach immediately lurches.  He spots a trash can and immediately runs to it, violently regurgitating everything in his system that did not make it out the night before.  Alex's voice sounds so defeated and tired, and John knows that he is the cause of it.  He is the cause for any of Alex's pain at the moment.  The very thought causes him to dry heave into the trashcan until his body realizes that he does not have any more food in his body.  Once he feels steady enough to walk, he wobbles outside and spots Alex opening the door to a yellow taxi cab.  Alex slides into the car that he must have called while John was inside throwing up.  John gets in next to him, keeping his distance in the tightly spaced vehicle.  Alex does not look at him once on the way back to campus.

* * *

 

Alex is sitting on his bed and staring at his LSATs study book while John is taking a shower.  He hasn't said a word to John since he picked him up from the police station.  He wishes he could say that he is fuming.  He is trying to convince himself that he wants to scream at John until his voice gives out, to kick him in the stomach so that he can feel how his insides felt after finding out that his boyfriend just got arrested for getting into a bar fight and literally breaking half of a man's face.  His body is telling him that he wants John to feel how he felt.

Right now, though, he just wants John to hold him and never let him go.

Alex finally closes the book, sits it on the floor, and crawls under the covers of his dorm bed.  His tired eyes stay open.  He wants to sleep so badly, but he knows that he can't sleep unless John is in bed with him.  He sighs loudly and curls into one of the four pillows on his bed, clutching it tightly.  He doesn't even realize he is crying until some of the salty tears rest on his lips and drip from the tip of his nose.  He knows that he needs to talk to John.  They need to figure this out.  They should have talked about after the first bar fight three years ago, but Alex didn't mind it at the time.  Over time, though, the drinking and the fighting have gotten worse, and it's starting to cause problems with not only the police, but with their relationship as well.  Alex has always had a feeling that he would have to confront John about the drinking.  For someone who loves to confront everyone, confronting John about his demons is a lot scarier than confronting a total stranger or even an enemy.

Alex never hears John come out of the bathroom and change clothes until he feels a familiar weight curl into his back.  Alex can smell the alcohol and stomach acid on John's breath.  He scrunches his nose.

"Go brush your teeth," he mumbles.

"I did," John deadpans.

"Brush them again."  John sighs into Alex's neck before standing and walking back into the bathroom to try and brush his teeth and use the mouthwash again.  Alex knows that he is avoiding the inevitable conversation almost at hand, but he just wants to forget last night ever happened.  The anger and frustration is simmering in his heart, though, and he cannot ignore it.  There is no way he will be able to avoid this confrontation, even if he tried.  He sits up in bed and waits for John to come back.  If they are going to talk, they are going to do it now.  No more time needs to be wasted.

John steps back into the room several minutes later and, for the first time, Alex gets a good look at his boyfriend's face.  John has a black eye and a swollen, split bottom lip.  The black stitches keeping his bottom lip together sharply contrast with his lips' natural pink shade.  His injured eye is crimson almost all the way around, no white except for a small crescent moon around his green iris.  Alex's eyes shift to John's bruised, skin-broken knuckles.  He flinches.

"We need to talk," he hears himself say.  John simply nods and sits in front of Alexander on the bed.  Alex takes a deep, shaky breath before continuing to speak.  John stares at him, silent, waiting.  "I think you have a drinking problem."  Jesus Christ, that was painful to say.  Alex closes his eyes and lowers his head like he is the one in trouble.  John doesn't talk, so Alex carries on.  "Every time we go out, you can't go without more than three drinks—all of them containing hard liquor.  I know you've been sneaking drinks into class.  I can always smell the vodka on your breath when we meet for lunch.  I never say anything because I don't want to make you mad.  I know how you get when you have enough alcohol in your system.  I have been trying to avoid this conversation since we've been together, but after last night—“  Alex has to take a breath to calm his racing heart down.  He finally stands to his feet and begins pacing around the dorm.  "Last night was really bad, John.  I know that you think I don't have a say about how bad last night was, but—but I saw that guy's face!”

"It was not as bad as you think," John interrupts.  Alex's smaller hands shake in rage.

"I saw how badly you beat the shit out of him!  The fact that I had managed to stop him from pressing charges was a miracle!  It took me hours of begging and pleading for him to just let this whole thing go, and no one else could bail you out because all of our friends were so drunk, they could barely stand!  I had to find out from Jefferson that you had gotten arrested!"  John blinks.

"Jefferson was there?”

"Yeah!  He told me what happened!  He sat with me in front of the police station while I cried about not being able to afford your bail money!"  His voice rises in volume with each sentence until he is almost screaming.  "He genuinely felt so terrible for me that he helped me bail you out!   _Jefferson!_  Of all the fucking people!  I was so scared of what could have happened!  You could've gotten yourself killed last night because that dude hitting on Laf was twice your size!”

“Do you realize how dramatic you sound right now?"  John rises to his feet and plants his feet firmly in front of Alex's.  He has to angle his head to look down at his shorter boyfriend.  "I get that you were scared, but I had the whole situation under control until the fucking cops showed up.”

"I normally hate cops with a fiery passion, but the fact that they saved your ass from your own funeral is something I will never be able to repay them for!  I don't think you understand the severity of the situation here, John!"  John tries not to wince at Alex not calling him by his last name or any of the pet names Alex constantly gives him.  "No one wants to get a text from someone they despise at three in the morning telling you that your significant other is in jail!  This is the fourth time this has happened in the past seven months, and now it's getting old!  I can't keep doing this shit over and over again!  You were just lucky that you didn't get arrested the first three times!  I am sick of your excessive drinking!  I am tired of you almost always coming back to our dorm so wasted that you can't even remember your own name!  I'm sick of you always picking fights!”

"You pick fights all the time, Alexander!" John shouts.  Alex's shoulders roll nervously.  John never raises his voice at him.  "You are constantly arguing with other people!  You are always looking for a fight!  You are such a fucking hypocrite!  You act like you're this perfect little angel that never does anything wrong!  Before you start picking at my demons, how about you look at yours for a change?!  If anything, your demons are _far worse_ than mine will ever be!  Now I can see why your father left you and mother so long ago!  He probably couldn't stand hearing you going on and on about how so fucking brilliant you are!  You are so entitled and so far up your own ass that you can't even see your own faults anymore!  Newsflash, Alex:  no one likes entitled, boastful assholes like you!  So stop acting like you're some kind of saint descended from the Heavens!  Sometimes I wonder why I even bother sticking around!”

Alex does not say a word.  His anger and frustration toward John and his violent stupidity dissolves into something parallel to shame.  Is this really what John thinks of him?  Does he really think that Alex is entitled and an asshole?  Alex should have never gotten so close to John.  He should have known that their love was too good to be true.  All of it—the kisses, the cuddles, the long talks, everything that made their relationship worth fighting for—means nothing now.

He blocks out John's panicked voice and every other noise floating around the dorm.  He doesn't even remember grabbing his backpack or his phone and waller until he is standing in the elevator sink slowly to the ground floor of the dormitory.  His vision is blurred from the lack of contact lenses and the hot tears threatening to spill.  The tip of his nose burns earnestly.  He quickly wipes away the stray tears that manage to slip just as the elevator door opens.

_I thought I had cried all my tears out already?_

He beelines for the library just a few buildings away.  The crisp January air bites at his face, but Alex welcomes the cold with open arms.  At least he can feel something other than his own misery eating away at his soul.  When he finally enters the near empty library, he huddles himself into a private study room and collapses to his knees.  Loud sobs violently wrack his small frame.  His torso aches from the heaves of breath he is trying and failing to swallow.  He has been through so much in his life already.

He survived death.

He laid in his mother's arms when she finally died.

He watched his cousin shoot a bullet in his own mouth.

He lived through one of the deadliest hurricanes in history.

He survived the foster system.

Those trials in his life may have caused him immense amounts of pain, but nothing can compare to this contradictory feeling of simultaneous emptiness and heaviness.  He doesn't even know how to feel.  He wants to be furious with John.  He wants to sock the older student in the face as hard as he possibly can, apathetic to the injuries he can very well cause.  He wants to throw up from the pent-up tension of the events of the past six hours.  He wants to forget any of this happened and just have John hold him and kiss him and tell him that everything is going to be fine.  They will be fine.  He wants them to be fine.  He loves John with all of his heart and soul, more than any other person on this planet.  He wants to run back to their dorm, apologize until his voice is too far gone to recover, and lie in his arms for the rest of his life.  The rational side of him, however, is shouting at him to hold his ground.  John will come around.  He will realize what he has done wrong.  He will beg for Alex's forgiveness.  Everything will work out.

Alex's heart finally slows down along with his breathing.  The tears continue to cascade down his cheeks.  He needs to try and keep thinking positive.  This will end up working out.  He hopes they will, at least.  But that fight—

Alex shudders as his heart tugs.  He doesn't want to think about it.  He pulls out his laptop and his LSAT study book, turning to where he has left off about Criminal Defense Law.  He needs a distraction.  He cannot stand to think about John.  He has better things to worry about.

Alexander Hamilton can tolerate many things.  Having his heart ripped from his chest and smashed to pieces has now been added to the list.


	2. Bed of Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys enjoy the second part to this story!
> 
> (suicide is mentioned)
> 
> tumblr: sinfulaham

Alex makes it his personal mission to stay as far away from John as physically possible.  Since they have two almost completely different schedules, what with Alex majoring in Political Science and John majoring in Medicine, it works out almost perfectly in Alex's favor.  At night, when John isn't out or sleeping in someone else's dorm and he is huddled in his own room to study, though, they don't speak.  They seldom ever look at each other.  Alex should be relieved that John is leaving him alone.  John has not said a word to him, and he tries to avoid him just as much as Alex tries to distance himself.

He's not relieved, though.  He is miserable.

Alex hasn't been able to sleep since the fight two weeks ago, and eating is becoming a challenge that he thought he had overcome a long time ago.  Everything hurts.  He cries himself to sleep when John isn't staying the night.  He wants to just tell John that he has already forgiven him and that he loves him and wants to sleep in his arms again.  He misses John's kisses, his stupid turtle jokes, and even his bad habit of farting on Alex to get him to stop doing his homework.  He misses the intimate moments in the wild hours of the morning.  He misses being John's muse for his paintings and drawings.  He misses John's thick, skilled fingers cascading through his messy hair.  He wants to laugh after sex.  He wants all of those moments again.  He wants John.  He wants his dear Laurens back.

Alex wipes away a stray tear with the sleeve of John's oversized New York Mets sweatshirt as he briskly walks to the library to study.  Any time that he is not in class or sleeping, the library is his safe haven.  It is the only place that he knows John never steps foot into willingly.  He enters the stone building and asks the librarian for a key to a private study room.  The older woman hands him a key card, and Alex quietly thanks her.  He slowly pads through the library to his private study room when he hears someone whisper-shout his name.  He looks around to find the face that the voice belongs to when his eyes land on a tall, wild-haired man wearing a fancy purple jacket, khaki pants, and Penny Loafers who is now walking up to him.  Alex has to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"What do you want, Jefferson?"  Alex asks in an annoyed tone.  Jefferson shrugs.

"Just wanted to make sure you were good," he replies.  Alex blinks in surprise.

"Since when do you care?"  Jefferson sighs exasperatedly.

"Look, I may not like you, but you went through a lot of bullshit a couple weeks ago.  I just wanted to make sure that you and Laurens were good, especially you.”

_His dear Laurens—_

Alex blinks back the resurfacing tears.  Why does he have to cry every time John is brought up in a conversation?

"From the look on your face, I'm going to assume that you two are not fine."  Alex looks away from Jefferson and hugs his journal and LSAT book close to his chest, curling in on himself.  The usually dull ache in his heart burns his whole body too hot to bear.  He can feel his forehead break into a light sweat.  "You good, Hamilton?”

"Since when do you care?" Alex snaps, repeating himself.  "You don't even like me.  You've been soaring in debate club for the past two weeks because I haven't been there.  If I get better, you start losing again.  Why do you want me to get better?”

"Because, believe it or not, I actually hate seeing you so miserable.  Debate has been shit since I've been practically by myself.  And, as much as it pains me to say it, no one else can debate as well as you can.  You're my equal in a sense.  And if you're down, then I basically have zero competition.  And what makes you think I don't care?  Out of everyone you know, who was the one that told you about John getting arrested?  Who's the one who sat with you at the police station and helped you with the bail money without any kind of bullshit deal?”

"I told you I'd pay you back," Alex interrupts in a small voice.  Jefferson rolls his eyes.

"I don't want you to.  Besides, you might not be able to pay me back for a while.  By that point, I will have forgotten about it.  Consider it a peace offering for making your life so difficult for the past three and a half years.  I don't consider us friends by a long shot, but you are a big part of my life and you've already been through enough.  I know that my way of life is so backwards to you—“

"You're a Republican.”

"Will you let me finish?"  Alex huffs but stays quiet.  "Thank you.  As I was saying, you and I may be polar opposites, but my parents always raised me to be a good person to those going through worse than me and to help others in time of need.  Because it's the right thing to do."  Alex ponders over Jefferson's words for a moment before walking to the private study room.  He leaves the door for Jefferson who is practically on his heels.  They sit in the room in silence for a few minutes.  Alex never imagined talking to Jefferson about his personal problems, much less sharing a study room with the guy.  And yet, here he is.  He takes a deep breath.

"John and I broke up," he croaks.  "Well, I think we did.  We haven't spoken a word to each other in two weeks.  It's just—"  Alex sniffs as he tries to refrain from crying.  "I never said that we were over.  I didn't even say anything after he screamed at me and called me all these names.  He told me that—he told me that I was just some entitled asshole among other things.  I just—I ran.  I ran out of there as fast as I could.  I didn't want to hear him say another word.  Now I've gotten my wish, and it hurts.  It hurts so bad, Thomas, and I—“  Alex finally breaks down for the second time this morning as he pulls his bony knees to his chest.  He hugs them tight and silently sobs.  "I-I-I-I miss hi-him so—so much!  I just want him back!  I want—I want him to—to hold me and tell me that he—he’s s-s-sorry because then I can s-say that—that I forgive him!  Because I do! I forgave him as—as soon as he—” Alex swallows the lump in his throat as more hot tears spill over his face.  “I love him, T-Thomas!  I—I really do!  And I n-n-need him back!”

Alex is too busy crying to hear Jefferson rise to his feet and wrap his arms around him from behind.  Feeling a strong pair of arms hold him for the first time in two weeks feels so good, but it's not the same.  It doesn't feel like John or smell like him.  Jefferson smells like rich mahogany and fine leather.  He feels a little softer.  He holds more reluctantly.

John is all or nothing.  He never hesitates.  He smells like Polo Black and coconut tainted by alcohol most nights.  He holds Alex like he will leave him the next morning.  He is desperate for the touch.  He is all physical yet all emotional at the same time.  They fit together perfectly.  Alex misses John.  So much.

Yet he never asks Thomas to let go.  The two sworn enemies just stay where they are.  Neither of them speak.  For once, both men are at a loss for words.

* * *

Ten days sober.

Ten days of no alcohol whatsoever, and John feels like his body is going to combust from the way it calls for the very thing that is killing him.  He went to the doctor to check his organs, and his liver is walking a fine line of permanent damage from all the binge drinking he has been doing for the past two years.  John calls his little sister Martha to check on her like he does every week.  She tells him about all of their siblings' adventures lately with school and lacrosse and soccer beginning soon.  John wishes he was there.  She asks him about Alex, which begins a deep discussion about the events that had played out sixteen days ago.

John hates himself every day for that fight.  He wishes that he could just hold Alex and tell him that he is sorry and that he loves him.  He wants to make it up to him—which is why he is staying sober, or at least trying to.  It's hard to fight the feeling of constantly needing some kind of alcoholic beverage at every waking hour of the day.  He knows that his addiction to alcohol is the reason that he has lost Alexander.  John knows that, and he has come to the conclusion that he does, in fact, have a problem.  He hates admitting it to himself because he knows, deep down, he is just like—

John shudders.  He stops thinking and just runs through Central Park to let off steam.  Spotify is playing him hit songs from the 80s and 90s of all genres, and he listens to them all—even to the country ones.  Sometimes listening to nothing but throwback songs helps ease his mind.  They remind him of the good times, the happy times.  As he is nearing the end of his five-mile run, one more song plays through the speakers of his red wireless Beats.  "Bed of Roses" by Bon Jovi begins with a soft electric guitar playing along with the sound of quiet piano keys.  He slows down as he listens to the lyrics until he finally comes to a halt at the five-mile mark right as the chorus ends and the second verse begins.  He does a warm-up walk for the rest of the song, listening intently.

The lyrics are raw.  They tell of a man's love for the one he lost and pushed away.  They explain just how much this person misses the one he truly loves and how he uses other vices to forget them.  He wants to have them back in his life and cherish them like he used to.  He wants to lay them on a bed of roses and be close to them.  He wants them back and it has become unbearable to be away from them.  He is in love and willing to do anything to be with them again.  No matter what, he is on love with that person more than anyone else or anything else that crosses his path.

He doesn't even realize he is crying until he is sitting on a bench and the song is long over, Tupac blaring through his speakers.  He turns off his music and rests his elbows on his knees, letting the tears fall.

When did he become so wild that not even the love of his life could tame him?  When did alcohol basically run his life?  How could he have let everything spiral out of control and never notice?  He really is just like his father.

He thinks back to freshman year when he finally came out to his father and the bastard had the nerve to tell him to never speak to him or his siblings ever again.  John swears that he will never forgive his father for everything that he has done to him and his siblings.  He calls him a monster and promises to stay out of his life for good.

Then, only two days later, he learns of his father's death.

 _Overdose on a whole bottle of Xanax._   That's what the doctors tell him.   _How dare he_ take his own life and take the easy way out.   _How dare he_ make John suffer and then just leave when the going gets tough.

John's resentment toward his vicious, alcoholic father causes him to purposely miss his funeral and publicly speak against him and his parenting as well as him as a person.  His siblings are forced to live with his uncle, a brash man who is a little more tolerant than his father but not enough to let John come home for Christmas that year if Alex was to come along.  John took his first sip of alcohol that night.

_One drink won’t kill you._

_You deserve to have a drink. You've been through Hell and back._

_One drink.  It will calm your anger._

_Just one drink.  That is all you need._

_Just one._

John squeezes his stormy hazel eyes shut, the voices in his head invading his mind simultaneously.  He turns back to the song and taps the “Repeat” button.  As he treks back to the school campus, he thinks of the right words to say, form his best monologue.  He writes it all down in his notes standing in the subway train, every single thing he is feeling, everything he is not.  It’s long.  He chuckles to himself, suddenly understanding how Alex never runs out of things to say when he feels so strongly about something.  He gets it.  He feels so strongly about Alex and what they have that he could quite possibly go on forever.

Except he won’t.  He does not truly have enough words to express the words to convince Alex that he still loves him.  Words won’t fix this.

No.  He has a much better plan.

* * *

Alex returns back to his dorm when he finishes his round of studying with Angelica and the rest of their study group for the day.  He is so tired, but he doesn’t want to sleep.  He continues to sip on his black coffee to keep himself awake.  He wants to eat, but if he eats, he just gets sick all over again.  His friends have been trying for the past twenty-four days to get him to eat and sleep and feel better.  Alex thanks them constantly for the effort, but he cannot be bothered by the affection of the ones who want to take care of him.

He opens the door to his dorm room and closes it behind him, not yet lifting his head to see the clear scratching of a pen across paper.

_John is here._

Alex puts his bag down and takes off his jacket.  He takes a deep breath before turning around to face the man he loves but shouldn’t.  He opens his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, and he is confused to see a picture of him and John and the Mets game they went to last summer.  Next to it is a sketch of the same picture.  Alex smiles at the memory of his first World Series game, how proud he was that the Mets finally made it to the World Series. It was the only game the team ended up winning, though, much to Alex's disappointment.  He looks around the noticeably dimly lit room, the only light coming from the fairy lights hung around the ceiling.  Pictures hang from the wires holding the lights.  Alex looks at each one in awe.  Most of the pictures are properly sketched and drawn out.  There are pictures from their trip to Prague, their first Knicks game together, their trip to Alex’s homeland in the Caribbean—so many memories.  Alex beams at each picture.  There are some pieces of artwork that are just normal sketches without a photograph to draw from.  There are some turtle sketches, a few horse sketches, and even a couple of landscape watercolor portraits.

Most of the solo sketches and paintings, though, are of Alex and solely Alex.

Alex studying.

Alex writing.

Alex sleeping.

Alex eating.

Alex laughing.

Alex crying.

Uncensored drawings that make Alex blush.

Funny cartoon sketches of Alex.

Alex is in love with each drawing, each small painting.  He is about to ask what this is all about when he notices the large canvas sitting next to John’s desk.  It is propped up on John’s easel that he uses for his fancier paintings.  Alex gasps at the painting itself and can feel tears well in his eyes.

It is him, lying on top of a bed of pink and white roses, one arm outstretched above his head, the other lying across his naked chest.  The portrait is only from the waist up.  His black hair contrasts perfectly with the pastel flowers, fanned across them beautifully.  He looks peaceful, and all of his flaws are there.  Every detail is there in all of the correct places.  His smile is lopsided, one side up and on the same side, his eye is crinkled closed.  The lighting suggests that he is lying under the sun.  His skin looks like it is glowing.  He looks—he looks _stunning._ This has to be John’s greatest piece.

“That is how I see you every day.  Carefree.  Happy.”

Alex is snapped from his thoughts about the painting to look at John, who is now looking at him.  Alex’s heart tugs at the tired, defeated look in his eyes.  His body is slightly slouched in a loose, paint-covered t-shirt and sweatpants—his proper painting attire.  There is a small stain of blush pink covering his cheek, a striking contrast against his beautifully natural tan skin and freckles.  John stands to his feet and grabs something from behind the portrait.  Alex huffs a small laugh at the collection of white and pink roses that match the painting.  They sit peacefully in a black and gold box.  His smile stays.

“These pictures mean a lot to me,” John begins.  “They represent what our relationship really is.  It’s full of laughs and fun times.  It’s full of baseball games spontaneous vacations.  It is filled with both physical and emotional love.  Every time I look at you, I am breathless.  You are the only person who I have ever allowed permission to have my heart.  You have taken my heart and taken such good care of it.  And yet, I took yours and ripped it in two.”

Alex cringes at the memory of the fight floating through his consciousness.  John takes a moment to pause and recollect himself.  When he feels ready, he speaks again.

“If I could take back everything I said that night, I would.  It took me six days of attempting to drink my pain away to realize that—that you were right.”  John’s voice cracks at the last word.  “You were right from the start, Alexander.  I have a drinking problem.  I really do.  I drink too much and am slowly killing myself every day because of it. You are the only one who was brave enough to tell me that enough was enough. You are the one who initially saved me from myself. Well, you and those cops.”  John breathes a soft chuckle, and Alex laughs along with him.  John clears his throat and bats the tears away with his eyelashes.  “I am so sorry for everything that I have done to hurt you throughout these past three and a half weeks.  If I could take back every word, I would.  Being a part from you has hurt worse than anything I could ever imagine.  Yet it has taught me that I need help.  And I am getting help.  I’m going to meetings.  I am trying my best to do right not only by you, but by me.  I want to get better.  I promise that I do.  I know that I have a problem, and I want to resolve it.  I want to grow old, especially with you.  Alex, you have made my life worth something again.  You are my muse, my confidant, my best friend, the love of my life.  And I would do anything to have you wrapped up in my arms again.  I am so sorry for everything that I have done to you.  I can only hope that you can forgive me.  I know that we will have to take a lot of steps back and start over in many ways, but I am fine with that because at least I won’t have lost you completely.  You are the best thing to ever happen to me.  You are living proof of the light overcoming the darkness.  You have brightened my world in ways you will never comprehend—that I will never be able to comprehend myself.  I love you, Alexander Hamilton.  You are my everything.  I kmow you're probably sick of me saying this, but I am deeply, truly sorry for everything.  I hope you can forgive me one day, even if that day is not today.”

When John finishes his speech, Alex is walking the fine line of properly sobbing. He cannot seem to hold himself together, but that’s okay.  John steps forward twice until they are a mere inch or two apart.  Alex looks into John’s sincere eyes for only a few more moments before he is shutting his dark eyes tightly and resting his forehead against John’s chest.  John’s strong arms immediately curl around Alex’s small frame.  He is afraid that he has overstepped his boundaries and is about to pull away and apologize until Alex hugs him right back.  Alex soaks John’s shitty, ripped-up t-shirt with his tears, but John does not mind.  He lets Alex cry.  He kisses the top of his love’s head and holds him securely to his chest. Alex sniffs as he contemplates John’s sincere words in his head.  He knows that he has already forgiven John—he forgave him the moment Jefferson texted him to tell him about his dear Laurens being arrested.  He knows that holding a grudge is what ultimately destroys relationships and marriages.  Never resolving your differences leads to misery.  He wants to resolve all of this with John.

“I forgive you. I will always forgive you. No matter what happens, we will get through it. This is just another thing we will have to fight. Together. I want to be here for you and support you every step of the way. I want you to get better. And you will. I know you will. You are so strong, my dear Laurens. So strong and so strong-willed. You can win this fight. I promise. I love you, John.”

Droplets of tears fall on top of Alex’s head along with several sniffs.  John hugs him almost impossibly closer.  He pecks the top of his head incessantly.  Alex looks up and gently cups John’s red, blotchy cheeks with his smaller hands.  John’s eyes are bloodshot from crying, but he has never looked so beautiful, so vulnerable.  Alex stands on his the tip of his toes and kisses John’s slightly chapped lips.  Alex suddenly realizes just how much he has missed John’s kisses, his hugs, his voice— _him._

It feels so nice to have his dear Laurens back in his arms.

When the two men pull away, John breathes quietly in the crook of Alex’s neck. “I know that you said that you forgive me, but I know that I will have to work to earn your trust back.  I promise to do my best to love you unconditionally and to keep you from feeling so hurt. I love you so much, Alexander Hamilton.  That will never change as long as I live.  You have my heart, and I don't want it back.”  Alex bites his lip to hide the massive grin threatening to break across his face.  He is unsuccessful, though, and he is okay with that.  “I got these for you.  They are the other part of your gift.”  John places the box of roses delicately in Alex’s hands.  Alex sniffs the flowers longingly.

“Roses are my favorite,” he whispers.  John grins.  It’s real and genuine.  Alex counts them, noticing that they are at a slightly weird number of eighteen.  “Did the florist miscount the number of roses?  There are eighteen here.”  John laughs heartily and shakes his head no.

“Eighteen was the correct number,” he replies.  He takes a breath.  “It represents the number of days I have been sober thus far.”

Alex’s smile falters as his vision blurs with a fresh batch of tears.  Eighteen full days of sobriety.  He stands on his toes and kisses John’s lips sweetly.  He just wants to kiss his dear Laurens forever, tell him how proud he is.  For once, the words just cannot make their way out of his mouth, so a kiss will have to suffice.

“Every day that I’m sober, you get a rose.  Hopefully we will have this entire dorm filled with flowers by the time this semester ends.  And, if I make it to six months, I will buy a full bed of roses just for you.”  Alex’s smile could easily split his face in two.

 _“When_ you make it to six months, you mean.”  John beams and nods his head once.  He picks Alex up gently by his thighs and sits on the edge of the bed.  Alex puts the box of flowers back down on John's desk and hooks his legs around John’s waist and his arms around his neck, holding him close.

“Yeah.   _When_ I get to six months.”

The rest of that night, the two lovers hold each other, discussing each drawing, each painting, each memory at their fingertips.  Alex hums into John’s neck when he begins to get tired, and John grins as he pulls Alex under the covers of his bed.  Alex lies on top of John’s chest underneath the pile of blankets to keep them warm from the cold February air.  John slowly releases Alex’s hair from its hairtie, running his fingers through the long, beautiful strands.  Alex closes his eyes and yawns.  “I love you, my dear Laurens.”

“I love you, too, my sweet Alexander.”

The white fairy lights stay on as Alex and John drift to proper sleep for the first time in weeks.

Things may not be truly back to where they were once before, but this is a good start.  They will recover.  They will be fine.  They have enough faith in each other to survive.  They will make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you guys go! i love all of you and i thank you for enjoying the story and voicing how much you love it! maybe i'll expand it or add a second part to it one day? until then, you guys can read my other stories if you so please!
> 
> if you want to send me any requests or prompts, just message me on tumblr at sinfulaham!
> 
> feedback is welcome! i love you guys so much!

**Author's Note:**

> ash, this is payback for making me cry in the library
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr


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